


3 Times Stan Protected Ford, and 1 Time Ford Protected Stan

by MandalorianDragonTrainer



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Happy Birthday Ace!, Protective twins, written on my phone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 04:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18843316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalorianDragonTrainer/pseuds/MandalorianDragonTrainer
Summary: The title is honestly self-explanatory....





	3 Times Stan Protected Ford, and 1 Time Ford Protected Stan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aceofstars16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceofstars16/gifts).



It was a hot summer afternoon, the sun still hanging high above his head, when Stanford Pines’ brother first stood up for him. He and Stanley were three or four years old, playing in the sandbox with their cousin Gertrude, who was visiting for the weekend. Ford’s brow furrowed as he painstakingly dug a moat around the castle the three were constructing. 

 

“Gimme the shovel,” Gertrude demanded, her pigtails bobbing fiercely. Unlike Ford and Stan, she was a spoiled only child and quite used to having her way. 

 

“No,” Ford protested, articulating carefully. “I’m using it.”

 

Gertrude grunted stubbornly and made a grab for the toy, attempting to pry her cousin’s fingers from it. “Let go!”

 

“No!”        

 

“Hey, why do ya have six fingers?” 

 

Startled by the suddenness of the question, Ford immediately relinquished the shovel to a triumphant Gertrude. “Huh?”

 

“You have six fingers. That’s  _weird._ Everybody’s got five.” She held up her hand for Ford to observe. “See?”

 

Cocking his head, Ford glanced at his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Some people got more.”

 

“Nuh uh. Only you. It’s weird and ugly. You’re ugly.”

 

Stan, who’d been sitting in the opposite corner burying wood chips to later dig up as pirate’s gold, suddenly shot upright. “Whaddya say?”

 

“I said Stanford’s got six fingers and that’s ugly.”

 

“ _You’re_ ugly,” Stan growled. “’N six fingers is plenty good. One more finger than you’s got!” 

 

“I don’t  _want_ another finger,” she crossed her arms smugly. “Only circus folkses got weird stuff like that… Papa called ‘em, uh…” she paused for a moment, pondering the word. “ _Freaks._ Stanford’s a  _freak._ ”

 

Stanley angrily swatted sand into his red-cheeked cousin’s pudgy face. “Take it  _back._ ”

 

Gasping in indignation, Gertrude batted the sand from her hair and ran bawling toward the house. Stan plunked back down in the sand beside his twin, returning the rescued shovel. 

 

“Am I a freak, Stan?” Ford inquired, eyes wide.

 

“Naw. You just gots more fingers ‘n everybody else ‘casue that’s where all the smarts live.”

 

Cousin Gertrude didn’t visit much after that. Not that the twins minded. 

 

***

 

Ford was eleven, biking up and down the street outside Pa’s pawn shop, the crisp autumn breeze cutting through his thin jacket. Stanley was grounded, as usual these days, but watched from the window.

 

“Try a wheelie!” Stan hollered down.

 

“I’ll fall,” Ford countered, clutching the handlebars nervously.

 

“Naw you won’t! I believe in you, Sixer! ‘Sides, if that dummy Crampelter can do it, so can you!”

 

“Who you callin’ a dummy, Stanley?” a husky voice snarled.

 

Ford winced as Crampelter and his gang rolled up on their own gleaming bicycles,  casting Ford’s mismatched bike a disparaging look. “Build that yourself, nerd?”

 

“None of your business!” Stan shouted. “Now get lost! This is our turf!”

 

“You don’t own the street, Pines!” the bully retorted. “Why dontcha come down here and make me leave, huh?”

 

Stan glared in response. 

 

“What’s the matter? Too scared? Oh, or did your daddy ground you again?” The larger boy glanced at Ford and smirked. “Well, either way, looks like ya won’t be able to protect your lil twig of a twin.”

 

“G-go away,” Ford stammered, slowly moving back.

 

Crampelter grabbed the bike and jerked it out from under Ford, easily snapping off the front wheel while his buddy tore off the seat. 

 

“Hey, stop!” Ford gasped. “I-I made that!”

 

“Toldja,” Crampelter sneered. “His pa’s such a tightwad he don’t even got a bike.”

 

“Mine’s just as good as yours! Now give it back!” Ford tried to push at Crampelter, only to be laid out on his back with a punch to the jaw.

 

“HEY!” Stan shouted. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

 

“Make me!” the stocky boy laughed, kicking Ford in the side as he lay nursing his bloodied chin.

 

“Fine! I will!” Stan yanked the window fully open and grabbed hold of the gutter, scrambling down the screeching, rusted metal. “I’ll kick your—“

 

“Stanley, no, you’re grounded!” Ford warned.

 

Crampelter tossed Ford aside and took a swing at Stan, who ducked and threw himself against his opponent, knocking him to the sidewalk and planting a fist square in his face.

 

“Get ‘im off!” the bully howled, struggling to wriggle free of Stan’s anaconda grip.

 

“What in the blazes is goin’ on out here!?” Filbrick Pines flung open the shop door and marched outside, belt in hand. Crampelter and his flunkies instantly scattered, leaving Stan and Ford alone on the pavement.

 

“STANLEY JEDIDIAH PINES!” the man roared, snatching his son up by the shoulder. “Get inside this instant! You’ll be singing out the other end of your nose by the time I’m through with you!”

 

Ford cringed, feeling guilty for the whooping Stanley was undoubtedly about to receive. But Stan tossed him a grin over his shoulder, assuring him that it was okay.

 

***

 

Ford silently cursed at himself for not taking his driver’s test when Stan did. They’d only been sixteen for a few weeks, and driving still made him nervous. But nerves or not, driving would be better than trying to outmaneuver the thug currently trailing him.

 

“Where ya goin’ in such a hurry, kiddo? You’re makin’ this rougher than it needs to be!”

 

Shoving his shaking hands deep in his pockets, Ford turned down a sidestreet behind the pawn shop, hoping to make it back home before the shifty character caught up with him.

 

A grimy hand curled into his hair and flung him flat on his back, knocking his glasses off. Ford grimaced at the sound of cracking glass as his attacker’s companion stomped over them while running to assist.

 

“Okay, okay!” Ford put up his hands to block any blows. “I’ll give you my wallet!”

 

“Then get on it,” the bigger man snarled. Ford saw a gun on his belt. 

 

“Here,” Ford fished the wallet from his back pocket and tossed it at the man, who quickly rummaged through it.

 

“Two dollars? That’s it!?” the thug roared, clearly unsatisfied.

 

“It’s all I’ve got!” Ford scooted backward, heart racing. “I’m only in high school!”

 

“I seen you comin’ out of the crazy old doc’s place, and I know he’s loaded.”

 

“I’m an unpaid intern!” Ford insisted. “Look, I swear I’ve got nothing else!”

 

“Come ‘ere,” the man snarled, grabbing Ford by the collar and giving him a violent shake. “I’ll teach you to—“

 

The flash of headlights filled the street, blinding Ford as the roar on an engine filled his ears. A car screeched to a halt beside them, striking the second thug and throwing him into a line of trash cans. 

 

Stanley jumped out of the driver’s seat and leapt at Ford’s attacker, leaving a gaping Carla McCorkle in the passenger’s seat. 

 

“What the—“ 

 

Stan threw a punch against the man’s nose and a second into his ear. Clearly, those boxing lessons paid off, as the man was too stunned to respond as Stan drilled him in the gut.

 

“Get in the car, Poindexter!” Stan shouted as he tossed the mugger aside. 

 

“Stanley?” Ford didn’t move, staring in shock.

 

“In!” Stan demanded, pushing his brother into the backseat and laying on the gas. 

 

“You all right, Stanford?” Carla asked, clearly still processing what just happened.

 

Ford lightly touched the welt swelling at the base of his skull. “Yeah.... I think so....”

 

“Ma’ll have a look at ya,” Stan glanced at Ford in the rearview mirror. “What would ya do without me, Sixer?”

 

***

 

The boat swayed rhythmically beneath Ford’s feet, the cool, salty wind rustling his grayed hair. He swiped at the trickle of blood trailing down his jaw, keeping his eye trained on the demonic figure hovering only a few feet away. “Stay away from him.”

 

Maniacal laughter rang in his ears. Bill Cipher hovered above Stan’s still form. “Can’t do that, Fordsy. We’re connected now, he and I, remember? And it was all his choice. He _invited_ me in. And so long as your _beloved_ Stanley lives, so will I!” 

 

Ford drew the laser gun from his belt and aimed at the triangle. “I said _stay away!_ ”

 

“Aw, that’s adorable! Go ahead, kid, take your best shot! You know it won’t do anything! But I’d still just love to see you try!”

 

Ford dropped the weapon, clenching his eyes shut. There had to be a way to save Stan, just like Stan had saved him all those times before. He wouldn’t just give up on him. 

 

“I won’t let him go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, Ace!!! Have an amazing day!!!


End file.
